Of Love and War
by Renegade Saints
Summary: Twelve feet beneath your skin there are whispers. I love you, y'know. But it doesn't matter now either way. All's lost in love and war.
1. Authors' note

_T.M. Hatter: __So. Reader. I suppose before you actually read our story, you'd like to know exactly who the hell you're reading about, so I'll give you the general gist of...one of the two characters._

_The basics about Raze are as follows:_

**_Sex:_**_ Female __  
__-__  
_**_DOB:_**_ April 15, 1985__  
__-__  
_**_Origin:_**_ Dublin, Ireland__  
__-__  
_**_Ethnicity:_**_ Irish_

_-_

**_Mutant Power:_**_ Can "copy" others' abilities; may only see a flicker of a mutant power and can immediately access memory, history, etc. Power gives her the internal password"--reminiscent of hacking. Once she witnesses another use their power, she is able to mentally copy exactly what they have done - either by telepathy or some other mind-thing - and internalizes it. She absorbs the persons fears, memory, history - everything. It can become a hindrance because eventually if she has too many mutant powers on her brain, she may have some kind of meltdown. So most of the things she absorbs, she makes sure to forget within days._

_For all of your Rogue fans out there, yes, this is a lot like Rogue's power. But in a lot of other ways, it's very different. The effects can be permanent. There are some powers Raze absorbs that she never gets rid of. It, also, does not work the same. Raze does not absorb by touch - she has to witness the power being used. Plus, the effect on her is very prominent. Raze __hears __a lot of the memories long afterward the powers have left her. She basically taps into your brain and takes everything in it. It's both useful and damaging. So, no flames. _

_For other stuff:_

_She's got pale blue eyes, she's 5'7", got brown hair, and a very reserved personality. Her history does not come into play that much in this: the most you'd want to know that by this point - when the story takes place - most/if not all of her family is dead. _

_Oh. Yes. And she always wears a black trench coat. Always. Well, that's about it._

Phoenyx: The other character, Cory, is… mine. In all respects. Copy and die.

Sex: Female

DOB: 10 – 24 - 86

Origin: Born in Ireland, grew up in Northern England.

Ethnicity: Irish/English

Mutant Power: She... controls energy, and is, in a sense, made up of it. She can teleport, but her form of teleportation is more a sort of moving really, really fast, through anything, because energy and electricity can do that. She can electrocute things and people, cause machinery to short-circuit, transfer energy from one thing to another, and make things spontaneously combust (if you want to call it that) by over-loading it. Occasionally is able to fix things or break through things by... shocking them and stuff. She's handy when you don't have one of those shock-thingies to make someone's heart start up again. ;-) She can't really get electrocuted herself or anything like that, b/c, frankly, that wouldn't make any sense. Can't use her power when she's in the water - rain, yes, but actually in water... swimming or something, no.

Whoot. Enter Cory. And… Ze end.

The Renegade Saints are two (cough EQUALLY IRISH cough cough) writers who are both part of the direly important organization known as the Great and Amazing Renegade Irish Puffy fan club. We have no president because we are the only two members, one being the janitor and the other simply being... there. Lazy bastard. Anyways, TM Hatter (the lazy bastard) is… well… just weird, and I (Phoenyx) am… significantly more normal than she. Though she continually tries to disprove that and fails. Horribly. Moving on – this fic is a collaboration effort between the both of us, the sucky writing belonging to me and all the good stuff to be credited to _her._ :sigh.: Enough said. Enjoy.

T M Hatter: P.S. The men in white coats will be coming for her any day now, don't worry.

Phoenyx: Shut up, you. I'm not posting that, you freak. :glare.:

T M Hatter: Post it.

Phoenyx: Never!

T M Hatter: YOU MUST. IT WILL DISRUPT THE FORCE IF YOU DO NOT. Plus, it's funny, freak.

Phoenyx: Nope. :crosses arms indignantly and pouts:

T M Hatter: Pout all you want, just post the goddamn thing.

Phoenyx: _You_ post it, damnit. Lazy bastard.

T M Hatter: I can't post it. You have the bloody document.

Phoenyx: Exactly.

T M Hatter: But if you _want_ me to post it…

Phoenyx: I have el document. Therefore, I WRITE!

T M Hatter: I can copy and paste, dumbass.

Phoenyx: No. I refuse. Die.

T M Hatter: I refuse. Die.

Phoenyx: Fine. I'll post it. But I'm adding stuff. :sticks tongue out.:

T M Hatter: Someone will cut that off one of these days.

Phoenyx: Someone, someday. But you are not that someone, and today is not that day. ...Hopefully.

T M Hatter::Grabs scissors.:

Phoenyx::runs away:

T M Hatter: Bwahahaha!

Phoenyx: ...freak.

T M Hatter: Maybe I should get a pair of bush clippers. Tongues are tough...

Phoenyx: Maybe I should steal those bush clippers and shove them up your ass.

T M Hatter: Good luck attempting to. My ass is very well guarded. Extremely resilient.

Phoenyx: I'm sure. Wasn't yesterday night...


	2. Psychotherapy

**T.M. Hatter's Note:**_ So, I wrote the first chapter. This is Raze's POV…they switch off. Raze's POV for everything I write; next chapter was written by Phoenyx and is in Cory's POV. Don't mind if it seems fragmented and odd. Read and review, please. Enjoy._

I hear screams inside of my head.

You don't know what it's like to wake up with tears ripping apart the layers of your mind. This morning, I felt their memories lock onto my skull and drip acid into the bone. It's always the same: one touch and then I'm in a world of secrets and whispers and all that **noise**…

And then…nothing.

There is silence and there is silver. Afterwards, I return to the dead state each time: an intricate dance of the cold-blooded fusion and then the retreat to love. Pure love…like scarlet...hands painted with kisses and crimson. There are these images and racing and I don't know which is which or what's going on or even--

"Raze?"

The same voice calls out to me, soft and riddled with mischief. I look up with my own glowing eyes and manage the small, self-assured smirk. "Don't worry," I whisper, the Irish accent cutting my words and making my voice just as ugly as my insides.

Beauty is crucified. Me Ma told me that once. But Cory's hair curls around her shoulders like fine silk and it's hard for me to imagine anything painful in the way she moves, the way her smile creeps up to her lips like a fine-assessed attack on the senses.

I glance up to the concerned gaze meeting my own and nearly laugh, only a stone block of guilt holding me back. I've seen her sprawled on my bed in my dreams and it fills me with shuddering disgust - for myself, mostly. _"Women will cheat you,_" me Da' used to say. The murmurs inside of my head are relentless and none of them are my own. Sometimes I hear a faint breathing on the back of my neck, only strong when no one else is awake:

**"But have you seen her skin?"**

Moonlit and an array of all the different colors, caught up in a web of perfection.

I find myself staring as she grimaces at the sunlight, walking outside into the daytime. I haven't seen the clouds in a week, but I stay inside whenever I can. I only get up when the moon is out and it took a million of lectures about how "You're a fuckin' vampire, Raze, and it's boring," from Cory to finally convince me to venture out into the world. I agreed, but only because I'm in love with her.

Cory wanted to go to buy some flowers today. She loves flowers - the colors, the scents...she loves the way they move in the wind, how sad they are and yet how everyone takes them for granted. I love the way she stares at the petals, the slow creases of...satin? She runs her fingertips over the stem, the buds, and smiles - really smiles. The way I would smile if I thought the world wasn't looking.

We walk slowly down the road - gravel underneath my boots, and I swear I hear bones crunching every time I take a step - toward where I keep my car. The garage is a plain steel building and mostly filled by what Cor likes to call, "One-Eye's Penis Extensions." The birds are twittering stupidly around me and my ears crawl with the sound. I've been losing it for a while, but I'm not used to all this light. The grass is too green and the world is too bright. I'd rather be in my closet, among the dust and the fabric wrinkles.

Cor stares up at the sky as we walk and whistles softly, hums occasionally, trying to fill the silence. I stay in my own thoughts - _whisper whither and the great poems of the awesome nowhere_ - with a voice that never stops, that never wants to. I laugh quietly as Cor tells me that One-Eye should die of the frailty cornucopia and that pussies are the epidemic unto themselves. When I open up the garage and find it more comfortable amidst the damp air and musty smells, she grins and runs to my old black truck.

"Let me drive, Raze. Come on. You know you want to."

I shake my head no. I love my truck and even though she's fantastic in every way, Cory cannot drive. Not well, at least. When she aims for the road, she hits the trees and sometimes I wonder - while watching her from a distance, of course - whether or not her eyes or really open, or she's just doing this all for kicks.

She pouts insatiably, bright eyes grinning with triumph as she sticks her lower lip out for extra effect. It hits me hard in the gut, every time.

"Do you 'ave to do tha'?"

"Of course, Razz-n-Sniffle."

I grimace at the nickname and run my fingers over the glistening handle as I grab the keys and unlock the doors. She hops inside with a hefty smirk playing across those lips - kissing them, _kissing them is all I see_ - and I follow in after her, sitting down in the driver's seat. Cor begins to ramble about some musician she hates; goes back to her favorite topic of how much Rogue should die, and in the varying ways as well; then smiles and turns to me, forgiving of my silence.

"Scott's a fucking idiot, Raze. Look at all those cars. Freak."

"He buys them because he likes to drive, Cor."

"I can drive, Razzle-Dazzle."

I smirk. "Into trees."

She glowers sulkily as I turn the corner and head down Maple Street. Cor rolls down the window and turns up the radio, flipping through the channels irritably for the lack of good music. The cool pavement whirls in a flash as I hit 50 mph and I catch a glimpse of the trees overhead – an array of gold and brown, mostly; with a spare shade of emerald desperately clinging to a dying life. I can smell autumn on the air and it's as ashy as the cigarette trails I leave behind. But the world is a decrepit corpse in my pale eyes, and Cory sees so much beauty in those colors. All I can see is regret.

"What is this crap?" Some sort of moaning flickers through the static of the radio, but I don't glance up. It's not music, so I won't waste my time.

"Britney Spears." She groans in disgust and flips towards 102.9, the only decent rock station she can find.

We vibe quietly until she pulls out some pills and proceeds to - what I gather, at least - stick them up her nose.

"Are you _snortin' _Benydryl?"

"Yeah. Allergies."

"Ha-HA!" The heroic outburst has gotten the best of me so I falter, then add with a helpless grin, "I don't 'ave any allergies."

"Screw you, man. I have three fuckin' furballs. THREE. Kill me."

I briefly wonder if Kitty is exuding any gorilla-like tendencies these days, because I always get confused: when she says shadowcat, does she actually mean she's a cat? Or a shadow? Or a shadow _of_ a cat? Which is which? These questions usually lead to is up down or is sideways the parallel universe to my stupidity? I think Kitty's furry. And I think Cor is allergic to shadows.

I turn another corner, the engine groaning softly as I rev up the speed, and she continues on with her silent ritual of ridding herself the repercussions of hair. I snort as I catch the sight of her with what appears to be glistening green capsules somewhere near her nostrils and retort with a small, but highly-amused smirk.

"Overdose on Benydryl. Then you'd be a hydro-allergic lose--_I mean_ hero. Hero to the poor souls stuck coughin' up their lungs on their pets. Pretty spankin' glorious, if you ask me."

"You know what? I think you're a loser. And seeing as I'm pretty dumb? That's gotta be sayin' something, man, '_if you ask me._'"

"I think I 'ear the sweet sounds of you desecratin' your sinuses now. How's the fur these days, anyway?

"I hate you."

But I don't say anything in return. The station flickers between some hard rock to the Oldies and Cory concurs her medication with a final laugh–"I got 'em! Take that, Benydryl!" –and I keep driving as my thoughts drift towards the few freckles on her cheeks and the way she wears her jeans with a few layers of shirts over them.

"How long till we get there?"

"'Nother mile or so."

We reach the New York City within a few minutes and I drive down the fast streets, swearing occasionally with my blatant Irish temper when a couple of bastards cut in front of me. Cory wastes no time to laugh and shake her head disapprovingly, but enjoys it all the same. These trips to the city are rare because of her schoolwork and I don't weekly make enough money for the gas to get us here. But I love taking her all the same, even for just some flowers and a smile.

We both get out of the car nearly simultaneously and she skips – though she'd never admit it – beside me as we walk down the street.

"_Damn_, Raze, but I love this city."

The fast-paced nature of it, I'd guess. The way the streetlamps flicker and the people laugh openly and there's not fear – but rather a resolute need to rise above. It appeals to Cory. She feels home where she's judged least. I smile and nod complacently as she strolls along, the clouds nearly singing above our heads.

I lead the way, but only by presence, because she doesn't know exactly where we're going. I told her I'd take her to get flowers, and the perfect place for that – as far as I'm concerned, and I think I'm right – is on 49th street. There's a market there – roses and daisies, and scarlet and white, and a million of different colors blurred into one another. The sunlight flickers between buildings as the picture of a meadow in between skyscrapers glosses my thoughts, and I smirk out loud.

"The people? Raze, if I ever make out of Stormy's class alive, we should live here."

She craves freedom.

I laugh and nod.

"Apartments are expensive 'ere."

"We could live as hobos!"

"Sure. Hygenic to a 't', ye are."

Her laugh is clearer like bells and morning mist, and my stomach does a few somersaults – unwanted – as I retreat back beneath my coat.

And when we reach the outdoor shop, she gasps. It's a secluded, ironic Paradise, I think. There are petals and leaves pouring over great wooden bushels of any type of flower you could imagine. People wander in and out of the aisles and laugh with the wispy jokes still lingering on real – fresh – air. The vendor chuckles at us kindly, the look on Cory's face priceless, and we start in. The fragrance is overpowering and I feel my knees weaken as she nearly runs. It's beautiful – not the flowers, but…_her…_the entire scene. Orchids and lilacs...but there's a bitter crying inside of my head and I begin to wonder if I'm going mad.

Cory moves slowly and picks up a flower – some kind of…I don't know…morning glory. It holds a bluish tint that reminds me of the sea, and all of a sudden I'm drowning and clawing and the visions come faster and faster…

And there's Cory, on my bed, screaming out because I did this and I deserve this and…

My brain whimpers into sweet, cold oblivion as the black shifts between hues and my soul rips itself to shreds. It's a dangerous love and I'm a dangerous person. I can never really touch her – not for long. I don't know how. I'll be inside her body and crawling underneath her veins if I do…and it's…wrong. I'm disgusting. I feel my stomach whirl again, with nausea, so I glance up. She weaves with grace and I walk beside her, feel both fake and free. She's laughing and there's a rosemary glint to her eyes. So beautiful. So perfect.

But beauty is crucified. I should have learned my lesson. You don't know what it's like – I go to bed as the different people, and I can never _ever _make her happy. This is no happy ending. My hands are stained with blood and I can feel the souls immersing themselves in my skin as I move. But I want her…so badly…

But I can never have her.

The little voices sound at the back of my mind:

**_Never say never._**


	3. Butterflies and Lily Petals

Something's wrong with her. I can tell. I hate it, but I can always tell.

It's like those cliché movies always used to say: her mouth smiles, but her eyes don't. It's in the way her lips curl ever so slightly at the ends, fainter than a shadow playing across another, desperately looking for something insignificant to lay her eyes on. The way she purses her lips indignantly, trying to look innocent, trying to seem apathetic, all the while restlessly fidgeting inside her coat pockets. It's almost cute; and would be, if it hadn't been a sign of something being _wrong._

No, it's cute anyways. Goddamn.

Silently, determinedly, I gaze at the gleaming flower before me, pastel hues I might've once overlooked dancing brightly in my eyes. Out of the corner of my sight, Raze is standing not far off, characteristically shifting her weight from one foot to the other in the heavy rain fall. I bite my lip, staring intently at the flower, willing my gaze not to stray.

_Don't look. Don't look at her._

The flower, one simple plant in its simplicity, holds more beauty than many can even imagine. Fire yellow, fading slowly, ever so subtle, into a deep blood red. Silk to the touch, the smell of faint perfume mingling with the swirling mist. The smell of life, of beauty itself, weaving back and forth through the falling drops of water.

Almost like…

_Don't look, don't you _dare_ look…_

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

I curse inside my head. She doesn't give a damn about the flowers; she was never one for… well, flowers. However, desperate for something to break the awkward stillness, I continue.

"Lilies are my favorite." I pause, hating how childish I sound – rambling, incoherent babble of nothingness, like a four-year-old trying to explain his fondness for Santa Clause. Damn my immaturity. But I can't stop now; something eggs me on, pushes me forwards, and, somewhat against my will, I keep talking. "Most colorful, I think. Actually, I don't know. Orchids, lilacs…" I heave a sigh. This is really, really pathetic. "Fuck it, they're all pretty," I finish softly, eager to end my nervous nonsense, distractedly running a finger across the underside of a petal.

So much for breaking the stillness.

I can't imagine what Raze is thinking of me right now, and I hate to turn and look at her expression; no doubt incredulous, the quirked eyebrow and the playful, amused smirk she always wears in response to my pettiness. I love that smirk. Don't know why, but it's got to be the most beautiful, most wonderful, most _seductive_ thing on the face of the earth. Or, maybe I just need to get out more.

Most likely the latter.

"Orchids are nice," Raze replies distantly from beside me, voice husky and heavily ridden with unspoken words, untold thoughts. I have to strain not to look at her, because by now, it's pretty obvious something's up. The whole scene strikes me as incredibly… off - considering Raze is usually very good at keeping things to herself – and suddenly, I find myself feeling so utterly helpless, as if all I can do in the midst of our hesitant conversation is stare sadly at the gleaming blossom I hold in my hand. The last burst of passionate color in a black-and-white film.

Words, intricate strings of them fashioning themselves in my mind die instantly on my tongue and I swallow, mouth dry as cotton. My eyes graze over the delicate surface of the flower, determined not to glance to the side, desperate to keep my attention on something besides her lips, her eyes. The sliver of caramel skin exposed when her "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" shirt rides tauntingly above the edge of her jeans. Her deep brown locks outlining her face, her beautifully statuesque features, like a picture frame.

Raze shifts again. She has something to say, and I know it well, as unwilling as I am to find out what it is. Thoughtlessly casting a glance over my shoulder, I smile mischievously at the older girl, flicking a string of rain-soaked hair from my face. My gaze quickly snaps back to the flower, however, as it strikes me that I just managed to do the one thing I spent the past ten or so minutes trying _not_ to. And… it isn't nearly as painful as I anticipated.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. I still shouldn't have done it. One, simple glance is all it takes, and I can suddenly feel the deep, inexorable craving for another welling up in the pit of my stomach.

She is _so_ beautiful. That girl…

_Stop. Stop it. Don't think, don't look…_

But I can't stop myself from thinking. This is the same girl that hounds my thoughts, creates little butterflies in my stomach, twisting my heart around my ribcage and squeezing as tight as she can. One glimpse and breath catches in my throat. She throws a smirk, and the world goes hazy, background fading swiftly into darkness and leaving only the outline of perfection, lingering cigarette smoke and faded leather against the black.

"Are ye goin' ta buy tha' flowers?"

The soft, prominently Irish voice cuts into my thoughts like a knife, and I choke on a smile, biting it back with the determination to not make a complete ass of myself. I love that accent. Love it to death; never fails to brighten the world. But… Raze doesn't need to know that.

My gaze remains steadfast for a moment, and I run my thumb along the day lily's open petals. "Don't have money," I reply softly, grateful for the excuse to speak. My eyes flick upwards to scan Raze's face, lips twitching into a grin. "But I was thinkin' of picking some and running." My smile grows, and I lower my voice to mimic that of a newscaster, savoring the confusion etched into Raze's wrinkled brow. "The infamous flower thief. Striking terror in the coldest of hearts."

"Couple o' flowers?" Raze smirks through the rain, and I find myself lost in the gesture, flowers long forgotten by now. "Why stop there? I'm sure there's some innocent grass lyin' around for the stealin' if ye really want to get dangerous." I watch in bewildered amusement as Raze wraps her trench coat tighter around her slender frame, the drifting fog swirling lazily around her figure. My eyes shift back to the flower, and I swallow a sigh of disappointment.

_You looked at her, you dick. You went and did it again. Congratulations. _

It's her eyes, mostly. Those captivating little orbs of deep and long-buried emotion, whirlpools of rage and sadness locked behind stubborn doors of apathy. And yet so much life… Beauty, the key to the very universe wrapped in endless folds of icy blue.

I shake my head at the flower. _Cut it out, Damnit._

"How much does the flower cost, anyway? I'll buy it fer ye."

I narrow my eyes slightly, feeling a shiver crawl up my spine with the cold. Maybe the cold, maybe not; it's hard to tell. Almost subconsciously, I let a child's hopeful pout creep across my face, breathing in the fragrant air that spins about my head as I gaze intently at the lily I cup in my hand. "You would?" Try as I might, I can't prevent a full fledged smile, and my childish expression gives way an almost sad content. "Don't waste you're money on me." I let my smile fade, flicking the stem idly. "It's just a flower."

I don't mean that in the least. It's never just a flower. It's the epitome of beauty, the very essence of the heart and soul, all contained in a few simple colors and a few simple shapes. The same beauty that only few contain… I feel my eyes flicker, and I bite down on my lip, hard enough to feel a stab of pain sear up my jaw. I can't look again. Look once more and I'll never look away.

"Yer beautiful in the rain, did ya know tha'?"

Pause. Curses. My ears ring with the words. The flower shrinks in my vision, then grows until it's all I see, white, red, orange, yellow, swirling in the falling water, drenching, dripping from my nose, my eyelashes.

My head turns of its own accord, smile faded. My eyes, flicking up to meet Raze's, light up with an incredulous disbelief, and I feel my stomach twist with a hope that could never be. Gaze falling to the pavement, I suddenly feel smaller, more noticeable, flawed and yet so perfect all at once. I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, opening my mouth to say something, and ultimately failing, gently biting my bottom lip like an indecisive child.

That's all I am. A child. A child with a dream, a hopeless, horrible, pathetic dream, never to be, never to unfold, never to become anything more than that. Just a dream.

It has to be a dream. Raze wouldn't have said that.

_Don't speak. For the love of God, don't speak. You don't need to fuck this up now. Please. _

I take a step forwards only to counter it with another step back. Eyes still locked on the ground beneath my feet, I feel water dripping down the sides of my face and almost smile at the welcome feeling. Butterflies in my stomach turn to acid, words jumble themselves up inside my head, and I close my eyes, wishing with every ounce of strength left in me that I might be able to reply.

But nothing comes. Only the flowers, staring at me with their mocking bursts of color, meet my eyes when they open.

_Don't think, don't speak, just don't speak-_

"You didn't mean that."

The words fall out of my mouth, unstoppable and instantly regretted. _She wouldn't have said it if she hadn't, you bloody idiot. The one time it matters, you have to say the most obliviously stupid thing you could _possibly _come up with..._

The blood rushes to my cheeks, and I swallow, hard, squeezing my eyes shut again with the distant hope still lingering that everything is a dream. The flowers, the rain, Raze... _Everything but Raze. _My mouth is dry. Acid butterflies. Breathe steady._ Please, don't let Raze be a dream._

Flashes. The scent of flowers, wet pavement is overpowering. Cigarette smoke – Raze has gotten closer. Did she move? Faded leather, dark and musty, discolored with the rain, fills my vision. She _is_ closer. She wasn't there before. Raze is smirking. Smiling. Ice, glaring down at me - hope, something I've never seen there before –

Pressure. On my arm.

On my lips.

It seems like forever and the blink of an eye; I pull back slightly, unwillingly, a hand still lingering on her cheek, lips tingling with the memory of her mouth on mine. My eyes are open now, searching her face desperately for something: a sign, anything to tell me that it's real, it's all real, and not just an impossible fantasy. The flowers, surrounding us like fireworks in their flaming bursts of color, stare at us with unrelenting gazes, but I'm hardly noticing the flowers anymore. All I can see, all I can feel is her, the intoxicating thrill of what's been done and what will happen and what in _fuck's_ name is going on coursing through my veins like poison. Beautiful, incredible poison.

Her eyes. The most breathtaking orbs in the world. I don't know if she means what she's doing, but I'm lost in those eyes, and I can't seem to control a single movement of my own.

The distance between us closes, and I no longer care.

The acid butterflies disappear, my stomach untangling itself from the knots it was so eager to get twisted into. The flowers, the colors, the rain, the cold, now distant memories in my mind, fading with the flesh-on-flesh contact I'd passed off as no more than an inaccessible delusion mere moments before. One of my hands finds Raze's face, another, her neck, and then nothing but skin, smoky mist and the faint reminiscence of lilies against a horribly wonderful backdrop of darkness.


End file.
